


Black and Blue

by tryslora



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Aftermath, Bruises, Community: fullmoon_ficlet, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-03
Updated: 2013-02-03
Packaged: 2017-11-28 00:14:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/668091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tryslora/pseuds/tryslora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the aftermath of the battle, you are the only one who sees Stiles wince.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Black and Blue

**Author's Note:**

> I’m not sure… I mean… it just sort of happened, ok? And I’m sorry I’m being all angsty again, I promise the next one will be light and fluffy!! Also, Teen Wolf is not owned by me (wish it was!). This is absolutely unbetaed, so all errors are mine!
> 
> This was originally written for Prompt #3 - Bruises at fullmoon_ficlet on Livejournal.

Stiles winces when he sits and no one seems to notice other than you. 

Scott is entirely occupied with Allison, her hand held carefully as he irrigates the long cut across her palm and announces that it needs stitches, but nothing vital has been damaged. He wrangles Isaac into helping him assemble what he needs to do it, while Allison protests that she isn’t a cat. Isaac puts his hand on her chest and gently forces her to lie down on the cold metal table. It may be the surgery of the veterinary clinic, but it is all your Pack has right now. And you don’t even have Deaton; he fell earlier today and you can only hope that _they_ don’t know about this place yet.

Lydia sits in a corner, arms wrapped around her legs, blood dripping across her face and arms, smearing her pale skin with red, matting her hair where it hangs in front of her eyes. She makes a noise from time to time, but when you try to move towards her she whimpers and whines until you back away. It isn’t you; she won’t let anyone near her. Not Boyd, not Stiles. You know most of the blood isn’t hers, but you hope that some other injury doesn’t lie hidden by Jackson’s blood.

So much blood. It doesn’t seem possible that one person should contain that much; the room reeks of Jackson’s scent.

Boyd fares better. His loss came a month ago and he has had time to heal. To harden. You know what grieving is like, and you can see your past in Boyd as he creates walls between himself and the world. Someday those walls will shatter, but you’ll let them stand for now. He’ll need them in the days to come, to keep himself strong for the Pack. For himself.

Stiles hisses, and again no one else seems to hear but you. He is leaning against the wall as if it holds him up and he smells like pain and fear. One arm wraps across his front, hand pressed to his side. You inhale; the scent of his blood is faint, so he’s not torn apart. But _something_ is wrong, and Stiles is usually the one who cares for the Pack. It falls to you to care for him instead.

“You’re hurt.”

He looks at you, reaching out with his other hand to press it against your chest, holding you at a distance when you would press your face close to take his scent in and search for the more subtle signs of injury. “Don’t _do_ that,” he snaps, voice tight with pain. “I know you think you’re helping, but I’m fine. It’s just a bruise. Take care of Lydia first. Or make sure Scott and Isaac don’t end up sewing themselves to Allison while trying to stitch her up.”

You growl and he winces. You don’t meant to sound angry but _damnit_ , this is your fault. You’re the Alpha. You should have known and you let your Pack walk into a trap. Your wolves. Your _humans_.

“This isn’t like the fire.” Stiles’s free hand twists in the neckline of your shirt and he pulls you closer. “Don’t start blaming yourself now, sourwolf.”

You wonder why he is bothering to keep his voice so low and you so close. He knows they can hear him if they bother to listen, and he knows you can hear him no matter the distance. But you let him pull you in until your foreheads touch and you can feel the hot wash of his breath across your face.

You reach out, sliding your hand beneath his, fingers light against his ribs. You are familiar with injury and your touch tests the movement and give of his ribs. You note the slight change in his breath, the stiffness in his the way he holds himself, but you are relieved that he seems to be in one piece. Your hand goes flat against his side and you exhale the breath you didn’t know that you were holding.

“See? I told you. Just a bruise.” His hand covers yours. “Don’t worry so much, Derek. I have magical powers of not getting killed. I’ll be around to save your ass when you need me to.”

That’s a thing the two of you have, according to Stiles. He saves you, you save him. He patches you up, and… “Take off your shirt.” You pull back and yank the shirt off for him when he hesitates. Boyd makes a small sound behind you, and you put your hand up, catching the bandages he tosses.

You can see the bruise spreading larger than your hand can cover, but you can’t see inside. A rib might be cracked, and you won’t risk one of your Pack. You won’t risk _Stiles_. You wrap him meticulously, large hands gentle against his skin, waiting when he needs to breathe through the pain.

“See, I’m fine.” He spreads his hands and what you smell isn’t _fine_. You smell sweat and blood and musk and Stiles, and when your brow furrows in confusion, he flushes slightly and looks away. “You’re not rid of me yet, sourwolf,” he says to the wall.

“Good.” You settle in next to him, knees up, head back against the wall. Across the room Lydia lets Allison get close enough to wipe the blood away and offer comfort, and Isaac patches Scott’s wounds. Boyd stands watch, a heavy wall of strength to guard the Pack.

Stiles yawns, and tilts, leaning into you, as if he knows you’ll hold him up.

Because of course you will.

“What about your bruises, sourwolf?” Stiles asks softly.

“I’m fine,” you murmur in return. You have your bruises, yes, but nothing terrible. Nothing is broken, and bruises eventually heal. All it takes is time and the support of the Pack, and you have plenty of that. Stiles holds you up, while you hold him. It’s your _thing_ , after all.


End file.
